Power Play
by DenLilleViking
Summary: Witches all over the country have started disappearing, and when Freya decides to investigate, she is forced to team up with an unlikely ally. Written by @WitchMisplaced and @KaiJest
1. Chapter 1

—1—

 **F** reya woke with a violent gasp. It had been a nightmare. Just a nightmare, she thought, pressing a hand to her clammy chest, feeling her heart race. It had been so terrifying, and then...all gone at the moment of her awakening. She couldn't remember it. But she could still feel it, clinging to her.

Trembling, the witch slipped from her bed and crossed the floor, her white nightgown brushing against her bare feet. She poured herself a glass of water from the jug she had filled a few hours earlier, drinking tentatively, attempting to conjure the memories of her nightmare, but failed. Freya rarely experienced nightmares. Unless they were visions of the future to come.

The sound of her brother's voice passing outside her door caught her attention. He was not alone. Freya put her glass down and opened the door, peering outside to see what was going on. But the hallway was empty. They had just rounded the corner to Niklaus' study. Abandoning her bedroom, Freya followed, stopping just outside the open doorway to where Niklaus and his progeny, Marcel, were sitting. She kept to the shadows. Unseen. Unheard.

"Davina's informed me three witches have gone missing in the last two months," Marcel said.

"And?" Klaus raised an inquisitive eyebrow, his long fingers knitted together beneath his chin.

"And she's asking for help to find them. Apparently her usual locator spells ain't doin' it."

"What does she suppose I would do about it?"

"Not you," Marcel said, a wry smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "Your sister. She wants Freya."

Silence. Niklaus seemed to consider his friend's words. "Then why are you speaking with me? I'm not my sister's keeper."

"Really? 'Cause my experience tell me otherwise."

Another pause. A sneer making its way onto Niklaus's face. "Are you planning to shag her? To marry her? To steal her away?"

Freya didn't want to hear anymore. Her brother could be so crude. "That's enough, Niklaus," she said, stepping to through the open doorway and into the light. "Marcel, what can I do?"

Marcel rose from his chair, looking surprised by her presence. Niklaus didn't look surprised at all. Quite the contrary, he seemed to have known his older sister were there all along.

"Meet with Davina," Marcel said. "I'm sure she can give you the details better than I."

"Why didn't she come here herself?" Klaus asked in a casual tone, leaning back in his chair.

Marcel turned to look at him. "She ain't all that fond of you, Klaus. Any of you, really, after the stunt you pulled with her resurrection spell. But she's desperate." He turned his gaze back to Freya. "Will you come?"

Freya nodded. She didn't like the thought of witches going missing. Even if they were not her kin or responsibility. Hopefully it would just turn out to be some misunderstanding. "I will. Tomorrow, at noon. Your place?"

Marcel nodded curtly, and Freya turned to leave again. She paused briefly in the doorway. "Oh, if I am to perform any kind of locator magic I will need a personal item from each of the missing. Tell your friend?"

 **T** he next day just before noon, Freya approached Marcel's quarters as planned, her conversation with Niklaus earlier that morning still fresh in her mind.

"Why do you care about a few lost witches? They are nothing to you," he had said whilst pouring her coffee.

Freya had to smile, a smile without humor. It was exactly the attitude she had come to expect from her younger brother. A thousand years of cruelty given and taken had made him a hard man, who rarely served anything but his own ambition and pleasure.

"I wish to help because it's the right thing to do," Freya told him, tearing a piece off her croissant and popped it in her mouth. She didn't speak again until she had finished chewing. "What if it was Hope missing. Wouldn't you want whatever help you could get to find her?"

"No," Klaus said, his cold eyes narrowing. "I would find her myself. I wouldn't fail."

Such arrogance, yet Freya hoped she would never get to prove her brother wrong in this instance.

She climbed the stairs to Marcel's flat and knocked on the door, one hand clutching her bag of supplies that hung from her shoulder. Already before Marcel had opened the door, Freya could hear a cacophony of voices coming from inside. Clearly this was not going to be a private session.

"Come in," said Marcel once he swung the door open and stepped aside to allow her to enter. Freya did so with great caution, quickly growing uneasy under the dozen gazes that followed her every move from the moment she crossed the threshold. Most of them were women, ranging from early forties to late eighties by the look of it. A few men remained in the background, looking somber. Davina, their newly appointed leader, stood by the large windows, the beaming sunlight creating the illusion of a halo around her head.

"You came," the young witch said, her dark eyes trailing over Freya's form, from the top of her blonde head to the bottom of her boots.

"I said I would," Freya replied, coming to a halt in the middle of the room, waiting for further instructions.

Davina didn't smile, but her features softened a touch as she made for Marcel's coffee table.

"Three girls have gone missing," she said. "Cecilia Monroe, Beatrice Jackson, and Elaine Cox. All young witches, all part of the Tremé Coven."

Freya didn't recognize the name of said coven, but knew it had to be one of the nine covens of New Orleans that were now governed by Davina.

"Cecilia vanished last month while on her way home from band practice. Beatrice and Elaine both went missing this month, one week apart, also while leaving school related activities."

Freya put her bag down on the floor, frowning. The thought of children going missing made it all so much worse, and explained why so many had showed up to see her work her magic. The distressed witches now surrounding her must be parents or grandparents. Maybe aunts and uncles.

"Have you talked to the police about this?" Freya asked. "They have the resources to help search, yes?"

A collective scoff rippled through the audience.

"If Davina couldn't find 'em with her magic, no way the police is gonna manage," one of the elderly women said, her gray eyes fixed on Freya with undeniable distrust. The others nodded and hummed in agreement.

Davina caught Freya's arm, her voice lowered. "I've done all the spells and rituals I know that could help locate a missing person or object. And I've got the powers of the covens to help me, so I know it's not a lack of strength. But none of them pan out. They don't even give an indication. It's as though I'm an ordinary human trying to make Harry Potter spells work."

Freya didn't understand that pop culture reference, but she could guess the meaning. Davina was not used to her spells going awry. She was a very powerful witch, especially taking her young age into consideration. However, power and knowledge were two very different things.

She turned her attention to the items laid out on the coffee table – a worn old teddy bear, a silver bracelet and a pink mobile phone. Each item had been put down with care, positioned in a neat line with a few inches space between them. Almost like something you'd find on an altar.

"Are these the girls' belongings?" Freya asked Davina. It was an old woman who answered.

"Yes. That's Cecilia's bracelet, my granddaughter," the old woman said. She had small, sharp eyes that despite her wrinkled face and hollow cheeks, flashed with life. Her long white hair was tied in a knot atop her head, giving her an extra inch of height. Her thin arms were covered in gold and silver bangles, most of them decorated by occult symbols or magical gemstones.

"I don't much like your kin, girl," she said, shuffling towards Freya. "But if you can find our girls, I'll be forever in your debt. We all will."

Freya was not looking for payment, or gratitude, really. But a small part of her enjoyed the thought of being welcomed into the warm embrace of a new coven. A group of peers who could understand her in ways her vampire siblings couldn't.

"I will do what I can, ma'am," Freya assured the old woman, managing a smile. "Can you tell me a little about Cecilia and the other girls? Are they friends? Do they attend the same school?" She picked up the bracelet from the table and held it in her hands, searching its energy for more information.

"Cecilia is a sophomore in high school. Bea and Elaine are still in middle school," a new, younger woman piped up. "The girls don't really interact much other than our monthly coven sabbaths. Sometimes we're all together, but most of the time, especially on holidays – Samhain, Beltane, Yule…we split into three groups. The Maidens, that would be the children and teens, have their own celebrations separate from the Mothers and Crones. I think those are the only times these three girls spend time together."

Several of the other men and women nodded their agreement to this theory.

"They wouldn't have run off on their own," someone called out. "They're good girls."

"We all know Bea was popular with the boys. Wouldn't surprise me if she had run off with someone."

"Watch your mouth!"

"How do we know Eva Sinclair ain't behind all this. She's done it before."

Freya frowned, but was otherwise unperturbed by the sudden chaos that erupted. Eva Sinclair was a former member of the Tremé Coven, who in a mad frenzy for power had kidnapped several young witches to leech of their magic. When captured, Eva had been sentenced to life in the Witch Asylum, a cottage in New Orleans were those who entered could never leave. Until Freya had broken the century old spell upon awaking after her cursed slumber. These days, however, it was Freya's younger sister, Rebekah, who inhabited Eva's body. And Rebekah would not harm young children such as these three missing girls.

"Everyone be quiet!" Davina demanded, looking exasperated and a little out of her comfort zone. "Eva Sinclair is dead. Now, please…let Freya work."

" **I** don't understand," Freya exclaimed as Niklaus handed her a drink later that evening. "My magic has never failed me before. Never! I must have cast at least eight spells, among them the one I used to find your daughter when she as protected by a hex only a hundred powerful witches could break."

During her stay at Marcel's earlier that afternoon, she had exhausted her collection of locator spells with absolutely no results, and this both irked and frightened her. Fixing her gaze on the lit fireplace in her brother's parlor, Freya's mind ascended to new levels of anger, something that earned her momentary loss of control and made the scotch in her hand boil. She gasped in pain and dropped the glass. Niklaus caught it before it could hit the floor and put it on the mantelpiece. He watched her with amusement written all over his smug features. Apparently, to him, it was funny to see his almighty sister fail.

"You approached those spells believing to find traces of magic," he smirked, taking a sip of his own drink. "Because they are witches. But you forget, sister dear, that there are many other things in this world that can harm a witch. Since you last walked the earth, a new adversary has arrived."

Freya frowned, unable to comprehend where Niklaus was leading her.

"Technology," he whispered, draining what remained in his glass and left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**–** **2–  
**

The abandoned power plant on Market Street appeared like a giant out of the fog as Freya's taxi neared. Created in the early twentieth century and closed down in the seventies, the plant now served as a meeting place for the youngest witches of the Treme Coven, and an occasional sleeping spot for the homeless of New Orleans. The building, despite its weathered looks, was still standing strong. Nevertheless, Freya felt uneasy about entering.

She got out of the car after paying the incredulous driver, and told him not to wait. He drove away, shaking his head.

The previous day's efforts had been disappointing, but after a good night's sleep and a big breakfast, Freya was once again ready to continue. She had chosen to come alone for the simple reason that having an audience had disrupted her focus. Perhaps that had been the reason for her failed spells. She liked to think so, that it was just a fluke, rather than a bigger problem concerning the state of her magic.

She entered the power plant through a rusty metal door, that refused to open wide or fully close. Despite the beaming sun outside, inside was showered in gloomy darkness. The large windows had been stained with what appeared to be paint. To keep curious onlookers from peering inside, maybe?

The floor was littered with machinery parts, left over from the power plant's active days, as well as cigarette butts and empty beer cans. Freya swept a thick layer of dust and grime off an old chair and sat down, observing her eerie surroundings. She couldn't see the appeal of this place, especially not as a meeting place for a coven. Freya had always preferred locations in nature for her witchcraft-purposes. It kept her grounded and closer to the elements she would call upon to aid her. But these were different times, apparently. Witches were in hiding again, afraid to be mistaken for worshippers of the dark and evil.

Freya took a deep breath, closed her eyes and said:

"Show me the memories of what happened here."

She expected to be gifted with a short, cryptic vision. Something that would be annoyingly vague, yet containing a clue to unlock the next step in her search. So when she was met with the sound of thundering footsteps and girly laughter, Freya nearly fell off her chair in surprise.

As she opened her eyes, she saw three teenage girls burst through the door and into the room, wide smiles on their faces and clothes dripping wet from rain. Though they all looked perfectly lifelike, there was something about their coloring that helped Freya realize they were not really here. They were not ghosts either, but echoes.

The three girls dropped their bags and backpacks to the floor, shaking water out of their hair, chatting amongst themselves of how unlucky they had been to be caught in the sudden rainstorm. After a minute, they settled on the floor in a circle.

"Did you bring it?" The eldest girl asked one of the other two.

"Of course, Cece," the girl in question replied, fishing a closed jar filled with water from her bag. She put it on the floor between them and unscrewed the lid. "I hope we can still do it. I mean, I've been practicing, but it's not easy with mom looking over my shoulder at all times. She even makes me journal every time I use magic. She says it'll help me become responsible and take my powers seriously. So I won't misuse them. Like she thinks I'm going to use my magic to go shoplifting or something."

The other two giggled.

"I know, Bea" the girl named Cece said. "Their rules are getting out of hand. How do they expect us to learn if we're not allowed to do spells without their supervision?"

"Well, that's why we're here," the third girl chimed in, nodding her head at the jar. "Shall we?"

The three girls joined hands and set their sights on the jar, slowly chanting the same latin command over and over until, finally, the water ignited and turned to flames. They squealed and cheered, breaking their link and holding out their hands towards the warming fire they had created.

This turned out to be the first of a handful of spells the girls would perform during their session. Freya watched in perfect silence as the three toyed and experimented with what little magic they had learned, floating pencils and feathers and changing each other's eye color.

Once they finished and started packing up, the chatter begun again.

"So where did you tell your parents you were going?" Cece asked.

"My mom thinks I'm working on a science project with Elaine," Bea said, winking at the third girl who turned out to be Elaine.

"Same," said Elaine. "How about you, Cece?"

"Extra band practice," Cece grinned mischievously. "They don't even know I haven't been in band for like six months."

They laughed.

"You want to come with us back to my place, Cece?" Bea asked as she zipped up her bag. "We're going to watch movies and eat marshmallows."

"I'd love to, but I can't," Cece replied. "I have to make a diorama for history class tomorrow. Mr. Ainsley promised me extra credit if I did. And I need it, unless I want to tell the parental unit I'm close to failing. See you guys next week?"

The three girls left. Freya followed them to the door to observe further, but by then they were already gone.

Clearly the missing girls knew each other a whole lot better than their parents realized. Was it not a coincidence then, that it was those three that had disappeared? Had they become more bold in their magical experimentation? Played with forces they could not handle? Had they summoned something dark?

At this point, it was impossible to tell. Freya decided to explore the power plant further before calling it a day. After all, if this place had been an accessory to a crime, there might still be clues lingering.

She crossed the room and started up some metal stairs leading to the second floor. They gave the illusion they were about to buckle at any moment, but they carried Freya all the way to the top where she was met by a closed door. She tried the handle and when it yielded to her advances, pushed the door open wide. Before her lay a small room equipped with broken-down computers and various other devices Freya knew nothing about. The control room?

As she stepped on through, something fell on her from above. It wasn't all that heavy, yet it knocked Freya to the floor on her back. She had just registered that it was some kind of net before a thousand tiny fires were ignited along every inch of her skin, making her twitch violently, unable to control her movements, unable to summon enough focus for magic, unable to draw breath. She wanted to scream, but couldn't. The pain was excruciating. All consuming. She was beyond saving, and her consciousness failed her shortly after.

When Freya next woke, her body ached as though she had been run over by a herd of wild horses. Her eyes screamed in protest once they opened and was met with a blinding light. Like standing in a snow-covered wasteland with the harsh light of the sun reflected everywhere you looked. Only this was not snow, nor sunlight. She was inside, laying on her back on a white tile floor. The lamps up above were merciless in their torment, and Freya forced herself to sit up simply to avert her eyes from their glare. On either side of her were the same white tiles, constructed to high walls, creating a decent sized cubicle with only one exit.

Three walls, one missing. Slowly, Freya got to her feet, trembling with every movement, her body occasionally twitching as though shocked. She stumbled towards the exit, growing more eager the closer she came, and just as she was about to step through, came crashing into a wall of glass, fuelled with electricity so strong it knocked her off her feet and back into the room. It was as though Thor himself had slammed her in the chest with his hammer. Groaning, tasting blood, Freya didn't make a second attempt to break through the glass. She was trapped.


	3. Chapter 3

– **3–**

"Save your strength," a voice said, slightly muffled by the wall between her and the one talking. "You'll need it when they come for you. They do a lot of things that put that shock you got to shame until they figure out how your powers tick. And when they do... well, who knows if your life gets better once they do - no one from these cells ever returned. Go figure."

Freya dragged herself over to the wall, curiously examining each tile within her reach for signs of weakness. She found none.

"Who are "they"? What is this place?" she asked, her voice hoarse and with a slight tremor from the recent shock.

There was a quiet laughter, a tired, worn sound.

"Well, they're human. Not witches, as far as I saw, and not vampires or whatever else... Maybe that's why we're here - because they're not, and we are the abominations on the face of their world."

A modern day witch hunt? Freya briefly pondered this possibility, a bad taste rising in the back of her throat at the thought of puritans getting a second wind.

"Are there others here?" she asked, slumping against the wall in exhaustion. "Have you seen any children?"

If this was where Elaine, Cecilia and Beatrice had been taken, what were the chances they were still alive?

"Surely there are others here... somewhere. I don't know about children, I didn't see much - it's not like they take you on a tour. The only tour you get is to their torture chambers and back to your cell if you're still breathing when they're done with you for the day."

Freya swallowed thickly. The thought of those young girls being tortured was hard to bear. And she didn't much care for the prospect of being tormented either. Of course, this only hardened her resolve to escape this place – alive and with the other prisoners in tow.

"What's your name?" Freya asked eventually, eyeing the wall separating her from the male voice on the other side.

Before she could receive an answer, a figure approached her cell. It was man, tall and muscular, clad in a dark uniform. He looked at her for a brief moment before reaching for something by the cell door. The glass slid open with a soft hiss, and he stepped inside.

Freya had no intentions of allowing her visitor any further. She raised her hand, palm facing the man with the meaning to make his heart shrivel up and die within his chest. It was simple enough for a witch with her strength, and she had performed it many times before. But now, nothing happened.

A thrill of panic shot through her at this realization.

Freya had never utilized weapons before. She didn't have to, because she was the deadliest weapon of all. But now, her powers failing her, she wished for a sword, an axe, hell, even a penknife would do. Without any such advances, there was only one thing left to do. Freya got to her feet and as the uniformed man reached for her, lunged for him, driving her shoulder into his chest, catching him off guard and knocking him to the floor. Before she could escape through the open gate, however, another pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pinning her hands to her sides like a straitjacket. She had been caught by someone much larger and much stronger than her. No matter how much she writhed and struggled, the muscular arms kept their vice-like hold on her body.

"We've got a feisty one," Freya's captor declared. "Best get the needle out."

The needle? What did he mean by that? What did they intend to do with a needle?

The man Freya had previously assaulted was back on his feet. He looked mildly annoyed with the current events, but did not voice a complaint. Instead he reached for a syringe tucked away in the pocket of his cargo pants. Nearing Freya, he uncapped the syringe and swiftly drove it into the side of her throat.

Freya groaned sharply, the sensation very unpleasant, bordering on painful. Almost at once, she felt her limbs become heavy with exhaustion. Her vision became blurred, her surroundings spinning as her eyelids drooped. She couldn't fight anymore. She couldn't do anything but watch in horror as a padded stretcher was wheeled in to her cell, and she was lifted and placed upon it, strapped down like a mental patient. Her head lolled to the side, and as she was wheeled out into the hallway she was just able to catch a glimpse at the dark haired man in the cell next to her, before she succumbed to sleep.

* * *

"I told you not to use the sedatives unless it was an emergency."

"She was fightin' us pretty hard, ma'am. We—"

"You, two soldiers of the US army, failed to restrain a 120lb girl? Pathetic. Get out of my sight."

Unfamiliar voices were what welcomed Freya as she regained consciousness. For the second time that day she was met with a blinding light that left her unable to open her eyes fully. It wasn't until the female voice that had spoken earlier, sounded in her ear that she realized someone was shining a flashlight in her face.

"Pupils slightly dilated, but they should return to normal once the sedatives are out of the subject's system."

Freya groaned in objection, feeling a strong urge to swat the torch out of her line of sight, only to find her hands were tightly fastened at her sides.

"Oh, good, you're awake!" The female voice said. There was a click of a switch being flicked, and the bright light vanished.

Blinking furiously, Freya's eyes finally adjusted. A pale redhead in her mid-forties were standing over her, smiling serenely as though she was greeting a loved one for a tea party. She wore a white coat upon which the name Marcia Caldwell, M.D. was embroidered just above her heart.

"I'm sure you're scared and confused, and wondering what is going on, but I assure you, as long as you co-operate, everything will be fine," Dr. Caldwell continued, brushing a stray lock of hair from Freya's forehead.

Freya was indeed confused and a little frightened. She had a lot of questions that needed answering, but at present moment she was unable to say much at all. Her mind was still foggy and unfocused from whatever substance had been injected into her veins earlier, and it was all she could do to remain awake and somewhat alert.

"Now you just relax while I take your vitals," the doctor said, "And when you feel more awake we can have a chat."

She lifted the stethoscope from around her neck and put it on, lowering the cleavage of Freya's shirt to gain access to her chest. She listened intently for what seemed like almost a full minute before she finally withdrew.

"Heart rate is stable," she muttered into small device Freya recognized as a voice recorder. "No anomalies."

The doctor shuffled about, and soon something was clamped down on Freya's middle finger. It didn't hurt, but it was unpleasant nonetheless. She tried to turn her head enough to see what Dr. Caldwell was doing, but a strap wrapped tightly about her neck hindered her from moving too much.

After a few moments, the device was removed, and the doctor muttered into her recorder again.

"Pulse: 75. Lower than expected, considering…" she shot a look at Freya, seemed to think better of what she had intended to say and continued. "Oxygen levels: 98."

She didn't make a commentary to explain whether those numbers were good or not. Freya, who had never been to a doctor before in her life, had no idea.

"Let's take your blood pressure. You're going to feel a tightening in your arm, but it will only last for a minute or so."

Dr. Caldwell wrapped a cuff about Freya's upper arm. It was attached to a small pump she started squeezing as soon as she had pressed her stethoscope just above the crevice of Freya's cuffed arm. The cuff filled with air and began to strain. Again, the procedure wasn't painful, but it felt as though her arm was slowly losing circulation.

"BP 120/80. Excellent!" Dr. Caldwell exclaimed after a while, looking down on Freya and positively beaming.

"Lastly, we'll take some blood tests and then you can return to your room."

Room? Cell was more like it. Prison of torment.

"What…What are you…going to do with it?" Freya managed to croak, unable to keep the concern out of her voice as the doctor disappeared across the room with three vials of her blood. She didn't like this at all. Blood was power. Especially her blood. And she was reluctant to let it go.

"Oh, we'll just analyze it. Make sure you're healthy," Dr Caldwell replied as she returned to Freya's bed. "Of course, thanks to the two brutes who escorted you here, and their fondness for sedatives, we may have to redo the tests at a later time. It can compromise the results, you see. Personally, I don't think they should be authorized to carry such strong medication, but the boss says otherwise." She sighed heavily, as if this was causing her an inordinate amount of trouble.

"Now, can you tell me your name, sweetheart?" she continued, a friendly smile Freya didn't trust spreading on her face.

Freya didn't reply. She simply stared back at the woman with increasing defiance.

"Don't want to talk, huh? That's okay," the doctor said, making a note on a clipboard. "You'll just be Subject 28 for now."

Why 28, Freya wondered. Did that mean she was the 28th individual to have been captured? All the other cells she had seen were empty. Except for the one with the male witch. Had 26 witches before her, come here and died? It was a sickening thought.

As Freya was wheeled back to her cell, she made certain to keep her head turned, facing the row of empty cubicles until she caught another glimpse of her fellow prisoner. He was young, perhaps in his early twenties, and he was strikingly handsome. Though it seemed some of the mischief that may have once sparkled in his eyes was dulled. How many tests had he been through? What kind of tests? He had mentioned torture. Freya was certain she would find out for herself soon enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**-4-**

The guards dropped Freya on the cold floor of her cell, seemingly unconcerned when her head hit the hard surface. She winced and tried to sit up, determined to give her magic another try, but by the time she had managed to get herself in a somewhat upright position, the guards were gone. The man in the next cell appeared to have been sleeping when she passed. At least, he had been lying flat on his back with both arms tucked beneath his head. If this sedative-business is a daily routine here, Freya thought, then she could not blame him for resting despite the vulnerable position he was putting himself in. She could barely keep her eyes open herself.

"Hey. Are you awake?" Freya called softly when she was absolutely certain their cell block as empty. "What's your name? And what has happened to my powers?"

A faint groan. "Now I am. Your powers are with you, just dormant. Sedated. When all you wanna do is sleep or die at last, magic can't do much. You need strength and emotions to make it work. Their shots take it away." There was a pause with a faint shuffle - he might be sitting up or changing position. "Name's Kai."

Freya reached for the side of her neck, fingertips searching for that sore spot of skin the needle had entered some time earlier. It made sense, she supposed, that the substance that had knocked her out also dampened her powers. But to make them disappear completely? Even as her body recovered? It was worrying, especially if the effect was permanent.

"Kai..." Freya repeated softly. "I'm Freya." She scooted along the floor until she neared that dreaded electrified window, careful not to make any contact yet attempting to peer down the corridor and around the corners.

"I was unconscious when they brought me in," she said. "Do you know which direction the exit is located?"

"Direction wouldn't matter if we had our magic up and running. Or maybe you already have? That'd make you the first one lucky like that."

"I've got nothing," Freya admitted, moving back from the glass as a guard passed by. "But I don't plan on letting them subdue me another time."

He laughed. A rueful but hearty laugh. "Oh, honey, you wouldn't believe how many times I told myself the very same thing."

Freya's heart sank. She wanted to tell him: "Well, I'm special", but decided to put her arrogance away for now. Her magic had failed her for the first time ever, and this was no time for her usual self-assurance. "How long until you stopped trying?"

He gave a bitter chuckle. "Who said I did? I might as well lie down and die then, but oh wait, no, they won't let me die. Life's a bitch. Sometimes it makes you live."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Freya muttered under her breath, having had her fair share of experience in that particular area. "How often do they come and take you to see Dr. Caldwell?"

"Gee, I lost count," Kai said with a little bitter laugh. "And the funny part is, you can't tell time in here. So, who knows how often that happens? Then there's pain, heavy head, jumbled thoughts and no will to live, so there's absolutely no way to keep any systematic track of it." He went silent for a while, then added: "I guess it only stops when there's nothing else they can get out of you. If they find you don't work for them - you get a pass out of here. Probably in a box, 'cause," another laugh, "look around. No one else is here except for ghosts. Sometimes I think I'm one myself." A pause. "Maybe I am."

That was the last the two of them spoke for a very long time. How long exactly, Freya did not know. There were no windows or skylights to help her determine whether night had fallen or if the sun was still out, yet she found her own way of separating night from day. The stretches of time when the hallway outside her cell would be frequented by people in lab-coats and guards in pairs, that was daytime. It had to be. Night was quieter. She rarely saw anyone then, but she was certain there were guards close by. Just in case.

Freya's determination to fight her captors dwindled away at the same time the hunger pains set in. She had experienced true starvation before while on the run from Dahlia, but at least then she had been free to move around. Not confined to the same square room of white tiles and bright lights that never went out. Those damn lights.

When a slot in the back wall finally opened, and a tray of food was pushed through, Freya could barely stop herself from pouncing. She already had the bowl of porridge cupped in her hands, when shuffling sounds from next door reminded her of Kai's presence. He was eating, too. Greedily, judging from the sound. Freya couldn't blame him. Who knew how long it had been since he last had a decent meal?

Still, the thought of him brought back the memory of his previous words.

"Sedatives. Their shots take your magic away."

The warm, sweet porridge suddenly lost some of its appeal. What if the sedatives weren't limited to injections? What it...?

In a flash of anger, Freya hurled the bowl at the glass pane keeping her prisoner. She immediately regretted it. The electric barrier did its job well. The scent of burned plastic quickly spread through the room, making her insides contract with nausea.


	5. Chapter 5

Someone was screaming. A scream that could chill anyone to the bone, giving the illusion invisible insects were crawling upon one's skin. It was a terrible sound of agony, and desperation for relief. Freya did not realize until much later, that the cry produced was hers.

"So, you see, sir. The serum I have concocted – Serum 394 – is very effective. The subject was given her last dose yesterday, and it is still keeping her magic at bay. We have staged a number of various scenarios that will most often summon a witch's need for self-defence: anger, sorrow, fear, and of course, as you've just witnessed, pain. The latter has proved most efficient. Through these tests I have been able to modify the serum, strengthen it, so much so it could be days until its effects wear off."

Freya was only able to identify Dr. Caldwell by her flaming red hair. She floated in and out of Freya's vision, along with a man in a suit she had never seen before. The room beyond them appeared only as a white wall, unable to capture her attention enough for details to emerge. She was back in the examination quarters, strapped to her gurney. Her entire body was shivering. A burning pain had taken hold of her left hand. Her head lolled to the side and after what seemed an eternity, Freya's hazy vision settled on the source of her agony. She screamed once more. No one seemed to notice.

"I don't pay you to suppress their magic!" The man in the suit was speaking now, angrily. "You are supposed to find a way to use their powers for our benefit, transfer it to our own agents."

Freya's hand was unrecognisable, pinned down by a thick leather strap away from her body, still attached to her arm by bone, sinew and muscle that were all visible through the deep wound. The skin that remained seemed to have bubbled like lava, angry and red, and had now settled, cooled down in uneven rivulets. The pain continued to be excruciating, so badly she could barely register the people watching her like some sort of art-project.

"And instead you've made yourself a little burrow, stolen close to three dozen US witches with the power we seek, and you waste them on stunts like this. Playing with acid and knives and needles." Again it was the man speaking. "I don't care what you do in your spare-time, Caldwell, but if this research of yours don't yield results, you will be replaced."

Freya tried to move her fingers, searching for the slightest of twitches. They remained still.

"Yes, sir," Dr. Caldwell's voice replied, humble and frightened.

"I want to see what someone like her can do if forced," the male continued slowly. His shadow fell onto Freya's body as he moved closer. She ignored it. "Make her perform."

Dr. Caldwell hesitated.

"But, sir, as I explained earlier...Serum 394 is still in this subject's system. It would be nearly impossible for her to practise magic right now."

Freya's eyes watered with tears as she continued to examine her deformed hand. To her audience, this may have appeared to be a reaction to the pain or the loss of a body part, and to a certain degree it was. She didn't like to consider herself a vain woman, but now, faced with the prospect of not being...whole...Freya found herself worrying. And still, it was not these concerns that played the biggest part in her watery gaze, but rather a deep concentration that attempted to settle upon her hand. The doctor's machines may not have been able to pick up on the subtle signs, but Freya knew better. No matter how deeply her magic was buried at present moment, it was still there, and at the height of her agony some minutes ago, she had felt it stirring.


End file.
